Dr. Maltby went to his office again, but he didn’t stay long. He went out to visit some patients.

The week soon passed away, and on Sunday, May the sixth, Dr. Maltby went out to see Mattie Sowers. He stayed longer this particular Sunday than usual.

He had a long talk with Mr. Sowers, and while they were talking together, Wilse Reed went down to Mrs. Barton’s to have a talk with her.

“Jane, won’t you release me? Won’t you let me go away without any trouble?” was Wilse Reed’s first words. “I won’t trouble Sowers. Please let me go.”

“I will not consent,” said she. “You shall not go, for as soon as you get away, you will send someone upon Sowers.”

“No indeed, I will not,” said Wilse solemnly. “I will go, and you will never see me anymore. I will go to Canada.”

“You won’t go anywhere, sir. I say you won’t go anywhere without my consent,” retorted Mrs. Barton.

David Kent was crouched in some underbrush not far away, and he was listening to this little dilemma. How he chuckled to himself as he heard those two persons say some words which we will record hereafter.

“I am going to wind things up now soon,” said he, “and I will certainly have fun. I will have my revenge for a little insult—no, a little assault I received some years ago. My revenge is duty,” added he.

“Jane, don’t you recollect you—” resumed Wilse, “don’t you recollect you are—”

“Wilse Reed, if you had finished that sentence I would have wound up this business at once. You started it twice and didn’t end it, and it is well you did not!” snapped Mrs. Barton angrily.

“Well, I wanted to remind you of it,” said Wilse, trying to laugh.

“I think of it often enough, so don’t keep telling me of one thing,” responded the Lady.

“You know it is just as well to jog your memory a little, once in a while,” said Wilse.

“There is the door—^[1] Go, and don’t you ever show your face here again!” said Mrs. Barton. Her words angered Wilse, and he got up from his chair, raised it, and was about to deal her a stunning blow, when she cried out: “Help! Help! Won’t someone save me from the fury of this desperate man?”

“Yes.” And the speaker, who was none other than David Kent, strode hastily into the room.

“Old man,” said he, addressing Wilse Reed. “Old man, I’d like to know what all this means. Ain’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“No, I am not.” The words came sullenly from Wilse Reed’s lips.

“Please, take him away, sir!” pleaded Mrs. Barton. “It is a mercy that you were so near, for I believe he would have murdered me.”

“I’ll take him to jail for his dastardly behaviour,” said Kent.

“No sir, please don’t have him taken to jail. Only make him leave,” said Mrs. Barton.

“Well, it is just as you say, but the mean trick I caught him in deserves capital punishment.” Then, turning to Wilse, he said in a voice of command:

“I command you to leave this house.” Wilse Reed went without a word. Then Kent turned to Mrs. Barton and asked: ÷

“How came he to attempt such a thing as beating you?” Mrs. Barton seemed a little embarrassed. Finally she said:

“I told him to leave here, and I suppose it made him mad, but don’t say any more about [it], please, sir.” If anyone had looked closely in Kent’s face they would have seen large tears in his eyes.

“I hope you will forgive me, but I eavesdropped [on] you and heard all your conversation, so don’t try to get off.”

“Oh sir, don’t tell anyone of our conversation, please don’t. I forgive you, for it is your right, since you are a detective.”

“I won’t tell anyone until you say so,” replied the detective.

“Thank you, sir. I know he is a bad man, but I don’t [want] him exposed yet.”

Kent took a seat and had a long talk with Mrs. Barton.

“Well, I will call again, Mrs. Barton,” said Kent as he rose to go.

“Yes sir, do so and I shall tell you more of my history. Call again—soon.”

Kent bid her good evening and walked slowly toward the house. Arriving there, he found Dr. Maltby just getting ready to go.

“Doctor, I will take a ride with you, if you have no objections,” said Kent.

“All right, Mr. Kent. I have no objections, I assure you. Get in, and make yourself easy,” responded the doctor hospitably. They rode along very slowly, conversing as they went upon different subjects.

Kent stayed in Winchester until about sunset. Then he went home.

It was very dull times, and the month [of] May soon skipped away.

Mattie Sowers was still in her room. Ella was still her faithful companion. They all thought of starting to the Springs on the first day of July, and they were preparing to go. We will see how Wilse Reed is getting along, as we discover him and Sowers in the stable-yard talking:

“Have you looked over your ledger yet?” Wilse asked jeeringly.

“Yes, I have, and I find no name of Samuel Reed there. You must have been mistaken,” replied Sowers. His words irritated Wilse:

“Well, I want the money, so as I can go away from here,” said Wilse.

“You won’t get any five thousand dollars from me, I can tell you,” respond[ed] Sowers positively, though he trembled in every limb.

“I won’t? Well, you may bid farewell to society, for I am going to tell Kent,” said Wilse triumphantly.

“Look here, Wilse, you was as much implicated in that as I was.”

“No, I was not, for you hired me to do what I did, so don’t fool yourself. I have got you.”

“You had better hold on to me, then. But I wouldn’t give you the amount of money you want if you had kept a thousand secrets. You can’t do anything at all.”

“I can’t? Well, we will see, I tell you, we shall see who comes out conqueror.”

“Wilse, you have threatened me so much and never carried out your threats that I don’t care that much for you,” said Sowers, snapping his fingers.

“You don’t, don’t you? Well, I will see that my threats will do if carried out.”

“If carried out,” said Sowers with a smile of contempt. “Carry them out, if you dare. You ugly rascal, I have given you your last money except your wages. I was a fool for giving you any money at all.”

“Sowers, let me tell you something,” said Wilse. “Before another four months shall pass, you shall be exposed. Now take notice of my words—they shall come true.”

“Let ’em come, Wilse, let ’em come. I see you have postponed it, you old scamp.”

“I have no more to say, Sowers. I am done talking,” said Wilse.

Wilse had told the truth for once, for before another four months would pass, all was destined to be cleared up.

Sowers, disdaining any more conversation with Wilse, returned to his house.

“Ella, I guess that is Father I hear coming upstairs,” said Mattie as she heard the familiar footsteps on the stairs.

“May I come in?” asked a well-known voice.

“Yes, come in, Father,” said Mattie.

“How are you now, Daughter?” inquired Sowers as he took a seat.

“I feel very well today, thank you.”

“And you want to go to the Springs the first of July, eh?”

“Yes, Father, we want to go on that day.”

“Do you think you can get ready by that time, Daughter?”

“Get ready! Why, if we couldn’t, what sort of people would you call us?”

“All right, I thought you wouldn’t get your wardrobe quite prepared,” said Sowers sarcastically.

“Oh, you men always think that.”

“Ella, you are going too, are you not?” asked Sowers, turning to that lady.

“Yes sir, I am going to stay awhile with Mattie, for she will want a companion,” replied Ella in a mezzo-soprano voice.

“Well, I shall go too. I ain’t going to stay here,” said Sowers. His wife came in, and he said: “Mary, I suppose you are going to the Springs.”

His wife studied awhile; then she said: “No, Uncle Mose ain’t mowing around the Spring. What did you ask that for?” A loud ringing laugh was all the answer she got.

“Why, Joshua,” says she again, “Uncle Mose ain’t been here since—I don’t know when.”

There was a louder and more lasting laugh this time: “Mary, you are a little hard of hearing,” said Sowers after a while.

“Mary”^[2] didn’t answer.

The month soon passed and the morning came for the departure.

David Kent arose early and took a ride down in Ash Hollow. When about half way down the hollow, he saw something like the form of a man lying on the roadside. He advanced toward it, muttering as he went:

“I guess here is a new mystery to clear up. I wonder if it ain’t Al King?”

He walked close up to the body and started back aghast, for the face of the man (for such it was) was horribly mashed.

He stooped down and felt the man’s pulse. Did it beat? He could not feel it beating.

“I’ll save him, if I can,” was [sic] his words as he sat holding the man’s pulse. “Who can it be?” he muttered.